


Of Cats and Dogs

by Nana_41175



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Bonding, Drama and Romance, Knotting, M/M, Mating Rituals, Post-Apocalypse, Sixty-nine, Vampire!Q, among other stuff, dystopian society and new world order, vampire-werewolf sexytimes, werewolf!bond, which can be quite complicated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-11-27 17:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20952050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nana_41175/pseuds/Nana_41175
Summary: As a vampire, Q is an old soul trapped in a young man’s body that will never age. It does his career no favors, and it won't do to look the way he does in front of a seasoned, unbonded, buck werewolf who’s made it clear that he has a problem with authority. Q's authority, to be exact.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** This is a sp00Qy fic written for MI6 Cafe's Occult October. Mind the tags as there will be smut and vampire-werewolf bonding. Enjoy! Comments are always appreciated! XD

Follow me at [**my tumblr**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/) for updates and teasers!

* * *

If Q had his way, he wouldn’t be looking the way he did. He’d prefer a few more lines around the eyes, perhaps, or some wrinkles on the forehead and maybe a few strands of grey or white hair to invoke the gravitas and dignity befitting a three hundred year old being.

As things stood, the fact shall always be that he was an old soul trapped in a young man’s body that would never age. And yes, quite unfortunately, that involved having wild, dark hair that refused to be tamed, along with periodic breakouts of spots on his otherwise smooth, pale skin. Such was his predicament, though he supposed things could be so much worse; but while eternal youth was a huge part of the hype surrounding vampires, how he looked was doing his career no favors.

On the plus side, being a vampire meant that one got to be on top of the food chain in this warped world. Three hundred years had passed since the nuclear Incident that spawned monsters among the human populace, and he was lucky to have got off relatively scot-free. Except for the strong aversion to sunshine and the blood-drinking, he got to have everything else intact: his genius mind made even sharper by the mutation, along with a considerable, wiry physical strength that belied his deceptively slender, willowy frame.

Three hundred years since the Incident that saw half the world population decimated and a quarter of the survivors undergoing some genetic mutation or other, and society was finally settling down once again from all the chaos and carnage to a new world order, thanks to the alliance of humans and once-humans.

Really though, it was more like a subset of once-humans protecting the dwindling population who managed to stay fully human against other once-humans who saw the humans as mere food and could not possibly give a damn as to their continued existence.

At any rate, here he was, recently promoted to Quartermaster in the organization once known as the British MI6, now tasked to protect its human charges from the onslaught of unscrupulous once-humans that included his kind, and also flesh-eating ghouls and werewolves as well as a variety of other unsavory beings.

So, back to his original dilemma. Being Quartermaster would have been so much easier if only he did not look so young and pretty. As things stood, he regularly had to assert his authority and put a bunch of supernatural upstarts in their proper places while fending off unwanted attention from these beings with a severe tongue-lashing or two. His fellow vampires were no better, what with their penchant for intrigue and posturing in all the high places.

Add to that the fact that he was in charge of an elite group of agents that were nearly all once-human, and one would fully understand his situation. Still, he was getting used to it. Except for an occasional rogue agent or two, he pretty much had things under control within the first two months on the job. And it was quite an exciting job. Exhilarating, even. He liked it immensely. He found he had a flair for managing the agents aside from designing their weapons and arming them with the latest tech.

Which brought him now to 007, one of the rogue agents mentioned, as well as his original dilemma. It simply would not do to look the way he did in front of a seasoned, unbonded, buck werewolf who’d made it clear that he had a problem with authority. His authority, to be exact.

“Came straight from the airfield, 007?” he said without even turning his gaze from the computer console overhead as he continued to type into the keyboard before him. 007 had not made any noise as usual as he walked into the deserted work station in Q branch, but then Q did not have to turn around to register his scent. “You could have waited until morning to have R inspect your equipment.”

007 laughed softly. “And miss the opportunity of a midnight chat with you, Q?” he said. “I think not.”

He’d been doing it more and more lately, dropping by when Q was on night duty. That much Q had noticed.

Q merely gave a thoughtful hum. “I’m flattered,” he said. “Though I’m sure I have no idea what you think you’d stand to gain from having these midnight chats with me.”

He finally turned around and whatever else he meant to say died on his tongue as he stared at the bottle that Bond held in one hand.

“It’s one of their regional bestsellers. I heard it’s very good,” Bond merely said as he raised the vintage to read the label. “Consider it a peace offering for all the lost tech.”

Q suspiciously eyed Bond, impeccably dressed in a sharp, charcoal grey suit, as though he’d not spent the past 48 hours shooting up a storm in Romania. “You know we can’t drink on the job,” he said.

Bond’s smirk widened in a feral grin. “Who’s to know if we’ve had a few sips?” he said. “It’s more blood than wine, anyway.”

“You’re impossible, Bond,” Q murmured. “If this is your way of bribing me in return for favors from Q branch, I must advise you on the futility of it.”

Bond actually laughed. “If you still haven’t got over that stash of silver bullets, sacrificed in the line of duty, I must add…”

Q frowned. If he did not know any better, he’d say that Bond was actually flirting with him.

“And I cannot reiterate often enough how silver doesn’t grow on trees,” Q chided as he feigned obtuseness. “Though we don’t have many trees anymore to begin with, anyway. Still, you can’t waste those bullets like that. Every one of them counted, you know.”

“You do what you have to do when dealing with a bunch of lupine terrorists hell-bent on destruction.” Bond placed the bottle on the nearest table. 

“So. Dinner,” he said as he cut to the chase.

Q lifted a slender dark brow. “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s what I came here for,” said Bond.

Q stood a bit straighter as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Let me get this straight,” he said a bit incredulously. “You’re actually asking me out?”

Of course, he knew all about the rambunctious boldness that came with werewolf territory, but the sheer audacity of Bond was something else that seemed to know no limits.

“You heard right. And don’t tell me that it’s not allowed between us,” challenged Bond. “What’s to stop two adults, albeit of different species?”

Technically, Bond was right. There was no rule to that effect, although vampires and werewolves were practically like cats and dogs. There were the usual stereotypes: vampires thought werewolves were big, dumb brutes while the wolves regarded the vamps as whiny, over-privileged bloodsuckers. There were nasty gang wars back in the old days. They might be able to overcome their differences enough now to work grudgingly together, but anything remotely related to interactions of a social kind, let alone being friends and meeting up to share a meal, was almost unheard of.

_Why?_ Would be the most logical question to ask Bond, with _I don't eat dinner_ following closely as a snarky retort, but Q had a small score to settle first.

“Whatever happened to your view of me being dead from the waist down?” he said, coolly.

Bond blinked. Q savored the rare moment of surprise, knowing that it was almost impossible to catch 007 with his pants down, so to speak.

The moment was fleeting as Bond quickly recovered, his slight smile of appreciation quite genuine. “I didn’t realize you’re into locker room talk, Quartermaster,” he replied.

“I’m not, but perhaps you ought to advise your fellow double-O’s not to gleefully overshare these kinds of tidbits,” returned Q, smiling sweetly.

“Ah, the things they do to cozy up to you. All right. I will admit that I might have thought of you that way, at first,” Bond conceded, hands now in the pockets of his trousers, legs splayed apart in classic alpha mode. “Especially considering how we first met in a fancy gallery of your choosing; although you’ve made me reconsider my opinion of you since then. Clearly you’re no cold fish.”

“I’m quite overwhelmed by your very high opinion of me,” Q said dryly, though the smile never quite left his lips. “I’m almost tempted to say yes, if only my schedule will allow me these rare freedoms.”

“You know you’ll have to try harder than that when you’re dealing with me, Q,” Bond said gently. “Friday, 8 pm— and don’t try eeling your way out of it. I know it’s your night off. The Savoy. I’ve already booked a table. They make a damn good blood martini. I’m sure you’ll want to give it a try.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” said Q, dismay bringing his guard down enough so that his puzzlement showed. “What’s the point of it? Whatever will we talk about, Bond?”

“You’re the mouthy one,” said Bond, still smiling as he turned to go. “I’m sure you’ll be able to think of something. Oh, and don’t be late.” 

* * *

Here's the [teaser](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/188236517951/mi6-cafe-its-wip-wednesday-post-a-line-or) for the next chapter. Enjoy! XD


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...In which Q gets propositioned.

**Author's Notes:** Hi everyone! The fun continues. Enjoy! More notes at the end! XD

* * *

Seven thirty on Friday evening saw him lingering in Q branch, in front of his computer, half-heartedly perusing some materials for a future project. He’d wrapped up work more than an hour ago and this was non-urgent. Still, he needed to be busy, or appear to be busy, to take his mind off the vexing matter of having dinner with Bond.

He wasn’t going, of course, but he still could not think of a good-enough reason to give Bond without it being effortlessly batted down. He could say they suddenly had an emergency— it happened all the time in Q branch, after all— but he could not discount the possibility of Bond suddenly showing up to call his bluff and whisking him away.

He would just have to wait until ten minutes to eight, when Bond was probably at the Savoy, before he dropped his excuse. It wasn’t very polite to stand him up like that, he knew, but this was not the time to feel guilty when he was being tortured by paroxysms of uncertainty and shyness.

_Shyness_, of all things! And at his age!

What was it about Bond to make him feel so gauche and painfully inexperienced?

And young.

It was absurd how Bond made him feel so ridiculously, painfully young. How had the man managed to penetrate his armor— layers and layers of experience accumulated over three centuries— leaving Q to feel like he was merely seventeen and fretting over his first date?

He’d been on dates before, of course; but at no time had he ever thought to go out with a werewolf, of all beings. He’d been with humans, mostly, but the last serious encounter had been years ago, ending in circumstances that were highly regrettable.

He should have been firm with Bond at the very beginning. He’d managed him well enough during work, on missions, despite the huge challenge of dealing with recalcitrant and headstrong wolfmen. So why was he faltering now?

“Why are you still here? It’s past your shift,” a woman’s voice sounded. It was R, standing by the open doorway of his office.

“Right,” said Q as he gave her a thin smile. He was devoted to R, but right now he’d very much like to throttle her. “I’m just looking up some things.”

“It’s a nice Friday evening,” said R as she settled in for a chat. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere, doing…something?”

Q scowled. The woman wasn’t even bothering to hide her mischievous smile. It was pretty obvious who had supplied Bond with his work schedule so that the man knew he would be off duty tonight. He could think of nobody else who could get away with such cheek.

“Of all people, shouldn’t you be on my side?” he said softly.

R grinned affectionately. “Not if I can get you to go out with someone,” she answered. “Anyone at all. It’s been ages. It’s high time you enjoy yourself.”

Q lifted his brow at her. “With 007?”

“He’s very nice,” R remarked, “when you learn to look past his lycanthropy.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” said Q dryly.

“Well, there’s no full moon right now, is there?” laughed R. “And you can handle him. It’s clear he’s…interested in you.”

Q sighed. “What will your mother say to you playing matchmaker?”

“Mum will thank me, Uncle. You know that,” said R, who, after all, was a distant relative of his— his sixth great grand niece, to be exact. She came into the room to wrap her arms around him and give him a kiss. “You always work too hard. Go on. I’ll hold the fort. Promise I will call you when something’s amiss.”

“In a minute,” said Q as he turned back to his computer. “If you don’t go on, I shall have to endorse a bunch of machine calibrations for you to work on the entire night.”

R rolled her eyes at him as she heaved herself off. “Going, Uncle.”

No doubt she was going to report to Bond straight away, thought Q sourly, and a few minutes later he was proven right.

His phone pinged, heralding an incoming message.

He sighed, resigned, knowing the man would do his very best to argue with him, yet Bond’s message managed to surprise him yet again.

_What have you got to lose?_

Nothing, Q admitted to himself. Yet that was not what he was concerned about. Rather, he was worried about what he might_ gain_ in the course of an evening with Bond.

Just where could all this lead to? Bond certainly could not be serious about him.

But perhaps that was the point. This was just dinner, it didn’t have to come with strings attached. He was overthinking things— a bad habit of his.

If he was being honest with himself, he was rather curious to see what Bond was like outside work. He wasn’t sure if it would be a bad thing, being friends with a werewolf— or lycanthrope, in more polite language. It was pretty unusual, to be sure, but then he’d always been drawn to the unusual. Wasn’t he unusual himself?

And if he was being totally honest with himself, he was drawn to Bond. Always had been. There was something about that pale blue gaze which reminded him of that last day when the skies above London had been exactly the color of Bond’s eyes. That last, perfect day when the air had been cool and crisp and everyone had been outdoors, enjoying the lazy Sunday afternoon, before those blue skies turned inexplicably to red and orange and a blinding flash of white, and afterward, the swirling, inky darkness that would not lift for years and years.

That precious day he’d been out under the sun and felt, for the last time, its warmth.

It was strange how a man could hold the exact color of the skies and the memory of the sun’s warmth in his smiling gaze.

Q stared at the silent, waiting phone in his hand, his touch as cool as the surface of his desk. As a vampire, his temperature was at least one centigrade below human body temperature, his heartbeat never going above fifty per minute.

Yet with Bond, Q could almost feel that quickening of the heart so that his pulse, for a moment, was like that of a human being.

He’d almost forgotten that feeling.

He swallowed as he began to type into his phone: _My apologies. I will be a bit late._

* * *

Q arrived at the Savoy at ten minutes past eight, which was not so bad. He tried to tell himself he was fashionably late, as he could not blame the nonexistent traffic.

Bond rose to greet him as he was guided to their table by the solicitous maitre d’.

“I’m glad you came,” said Bond as they shook hands. It was, Q realized, the first time they ever touched.

“I…I’m glad to be here,” he replied, and was surprised that he actually meant it. “Though I’d really like to know what sort of inducement you’d managed to beguile R with to make her turn on me like that.”

Bond’s smile merely widened. “She’s very fond of you,” was all he said.

“And you’re very persuasive with young ladies,” Q remarked archly as they were handed menus.

This time, Bond actually laughed. “Not just young ladies,” he said, with something in his voice that made Q blink and look away. He peered down at the menu before him as though it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

He’d been to the Savoy for red tea, as the vampires called it, but strangely enough, never for dinner. He was astonished at the variety of blood dishes on offer.

“Try the seasonal five-course set,” Bond suggested, smiling, as he watched Q mull over the choices.

“All right, I will,” said Q as the waiter came to take their orders, beginning with the blood martini that Bond had previously mentioned.

“So, uh, you come here often, then,” said Q carefully as a brief silence settled between them.

“When the company is interesting enough,” answered Bond, leaving Q stymied once again.

He’d often been at the receiving (and unwilling) end of flirtatious banter, but the question here was, _why? And why Bond, of all people?_

The answer was clear enough.

“I hardly think my company outside work is all that interesting,” Q replied dryly as he fixed Bond with a narrow, assessing look.

“On the contrary,” Bond said. “I find my Quartermaster quite fascinating.”

Q scoffed. “This looks more like a bribe than anything else," he said. “You need something from me; you double-O’s all do. Just the other day, 009 had the temerity to praise my fashion choices. It turned out that he wanted to weasel the DB10 away from you for his mission in Spain.”

Bond chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you saw through his ruse, then.”

“But you.” Q made a small gesture with one hand. “Here. Now…”

“Is it so difficult to imagine that I would like to know you better?”

“Whatever for?” Q said as he took a small sip of his blood martini. He could not help but raise an eyebrow at the drink.

“Good?” Bond seemed pleased.

“Exceptional.” Q placed it aside and folded his hands, business-like, in front of him. “Now, spit it out. Why go through all this trouble to wine and dine me? What do you want from me and Q branch? More importantly, have you stolen and/or broken anything that I need to know about?”

“Of course not. Not now, anyway,” said Bond. “And from Q branch, I want nothing. From you though…”

Q raised an eyebrow at him as Bond let his words trail off suggestively.

Before Q could prod him further, the first course arrived: _Czernina_, a Polish soup made from duck blood.

The serving was small, daintily served in beautiful, antique china that was probably as old as Q. He would be able to finish it in a few spoonfuls. Blood sat heavily in one’s stomach, after all. It would not do to have too much, all at once. Everything in the menu was made from animal blood. It was all good food but admittedly not comparable to human blood-- that most perfect, rare fluid of all which could not be served in this manner, in a restaurant.

There were other ways, unspoken in polite company, for vampires to acquire human blood legitimately. Always, human consent was necessary. Often, it involved an artful courtship or some other method of coercion— something that Q had no time to cultivate with anyone, given his work.

Yet now, sitting primly opposite a werewolf as he sipped at his blood soup, Q could not help but think that he was the one being wooed here. It was a very strange phenomenon, and not unpleasant.

For a moment, the conversation veered to the food. After the soup came Spanish _morcilla_, a blood pudding; Scandinavian blood sausage; French _sanquette_, and Italian _sanguinaccio dolce_ for dessert. It was quite a feast, considering Q had subsisted on nutrition bars and blood concentrate pills for so long, along with the occasional splurge of refrigerated fresh whole blood from the blood bank.

Bond, on the other hand, ordered steak— extra rare and so bloody that the red juices oozed out the moment he sank his knife in. It was, Q supposed, typical werewolf fare; yet watching Bond eat was an intensely satisfying affair in itself.

And then there were the blood wines that came with each course. Absolutely delicious.

“I enjoyed the vintage you brought back from Romania,” confessed Q when the meal drew to a close. Still, he was nowhere near guessing Bond’s motive for this dinner.

“I’m glad,” was all Bond said.

Q sighed. “Am I ever going to find out why you’re being so nice this evening, Bond? And please don't get me wrong. It was a very lovely dinner, thank you.”

“You're welcome. I’ve enjoyed it thoroughly as well,” said Bond. “R says it’s been a while since you’ve been out with anyone.”

“And I shall have a sharp word with that young lady for tattling as soon as I am able,” replied Q acerbically. “My private life is nowhere near anyone’s business.”

Bond looked down, blond lashes throwing a faint shadow in the lamplight to dust at his tanned cheek. “You’re not with anyone right now, then.”

Q pursed his lips. “I haven’t felt the compulsion for a human partner for a long while, no,” he said rather thoughtfully after a moment. “Drinking from humans is so messy, so…”

“So…?”

“So complicated,” finished Q rather wearily. “Not to mention dangerous for the human partner. The last time I…anyway. Accidents happen, I suppose.”

“You’re very considerate of your partners,” noted Bond.

“Humans are rather frail and need to be treated with care, yes,” Q said.

“You’ve not missed the intimacy, then.”

“I do, I…” Here, Q paused. “I don’t know why you think this kind of information is worth knowing.”

“I am interested.”

“Are you, indeed, Bond.”

“Yes, I am. I am interested in you.”

Q gazed at Bond, thinking he was perhaps more drunk than he thought when alarm bells failed to sound in his head as he listened to Bond’s confession.

Bond added, “I have been, for a while.”

“I’d hate to disappoint you,” said Q, “but—”

“I’m not disappointed at all. And if you missed it— warm, human blood, that is— you may want to drink from me.”

“Wait,” said Q. He felt his mind had turned to sludge, intoxicated with the blood wine, with the evening, with Bond; but Bond’s words had finally raised a red flag. “Say that again.”

Bond obliged. “You may drink from me, yes.”

“Your blood?” repeated Q, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You want me to take in werewolf blood?”

Bond scoffed. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid. It’s not going to turn you into one, you know.”

“And in return, you want…?” Q was at a loss as he searched Bond’s face for any sign that he was pulling his leg.

_He can’t possibly mean this_, he thought. _Someone’s put him up to it. What else can it be?_

“Are you really going to make me say it?” said Bond softly as he leaned in to pin Q with his unsettling blue gaze. “Fine, then. I want you in my bed.”

* * *

**More notes:** The blood dishes mentioned are all real, and lifted from [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blood_as_food)

Here's the [**teaser**](https://nana-41175.tumblr.com/post/188698761616/teaser-for-ch-3-of-my-00q-fic-of-cats-and-dogs) for the next chapter! XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...In which Q embarks on an affair.

**Author's Notes**: Happy New Year, everyone! This fic took a while but the Muse is coming back to it. Now, on to more naughty times! Enjoy and let us know what you think!

* * *

“It’s not a joke,” said Bond, reading Q’s gaze.

Q shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think you’d be that foolish to tinker with me like this, Bond.”

Bond said nothing but raised a blond brow at him, waiting for him to say more, to say yes or no.

It should have been easy to fob off Bond and his outlandish words; to scoff or shrug it off and steer the conversation back onto safe— not to mention sane— grounds.

Instead, Q found himself unable to look away from Bond as he continued, “And, do you say that to all your first dates?”

Bond’s lips tilted in a small smirk. “Not in a long while, no,” he replied readily.

“So why me, Bond?” Q ventured. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“Damn it, Q,” Bond said, his voice so low it was a near growl. “Because I like you.”

Q persisted. “Do you say this to everyone you like?”

Bond shook his head. “No.”

“No?”

“Exasperating man,” Bond said, smiling. “All right, then. I say this because you’re adorable. I have, for a very long time, been_ smitten_ by you. There. I’ve said it. I’m warning you— I shall oblige if you’d want to wrench more embarrassing confessions from me. I can do it all night long, in fact.”

Q swallowed. He would have found himself flushing if only vampires could do so. “Really? Adorable, Bond?” he said, latching on to the most astonishing of Bond’s many astonishing words. He even managed to sound dubious.

“Q,” Bond said as he laid a hand gently over Q’s own on the table. “You don’t have to over-think this. Just treat this as a night of mutual pleasure, no strings attached.”

“Oh,” Q replied. “Like a one-night stand?”

Bond winced. “That’s rather harsh, don’t you think?”

Q shrugged. “It is what it is,” he said. “And you expect me to just say yes?”

“Yes,” said Bond, his smile widening in a wolfish grin. “Please.”

“Look who’s being exasperating now,” Q said, scoffing. “Why do you think I’d want to?”

“I thought you’d be curious, if nothing else,” said Bond as he lifted Q’s pale, limp hand to his lips. “Besides, I see the way you look at me, sometimes.”

“How do I look at you?”

“Like you’d devour me,” replied Bond.

He could wrench his hand away, Q thought vaguely. He could. But that was before Bond turned his hand over, palm up, and— he did not kiss it. Rather, he licked at Q’s skin, lightly, tasting the salt there.

He should know this for what it was, and if it came from anybody else, he would have promptly dismissed the gesture as the equivalent of a terrible pick-up line. Yet coming from Bond, it startled Q in a way very few things had ever done in his long lifetime. He actually felt the breath punched out of him. He’d forgotten ever feeling like this, being wanted. If he’d ever felt this way at all.

“Come on,” urged Bond, pale eyes dancing with warm mischief. “For curiosity’s sake, if nothing else.”

But there was something else, Q knew. Something that might be better left undisturbed; something that ought not to be awakened between them. Besides, they were colleagues. Definitely, work would be awkward.

Then there were the complications of an inter-species relationship between vampire and werewolf— almost unheard of, as far as Q was concerned.

These were all perfectly valid arguments against Bond’s proposal, yet despite his mind racing frantically ahead, he merely found himself saying, “no strings attached?”

“None whatsoever.” Bond made to stand up without relinquishing Q’s hand. “You’re free to walk away anytime you like.”

“We should talk about this some more,” said Q, stalling for time as he found himself uncharacteristically being led by the hand out of the restaurant and through the hotel lobby to where the lifts were. “Bond—”

“I’ve reserved a suite,” was all Bond said.

Q drew in a breath. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you.”

“Very,” agreed Bond as the lift doors opened. He stepped in, drawing Q inexorably with him.

“This is going too fast, Bond,” protested Q, but his voice had turned breathy as Bond closed in, crowding him against the mirrored wall of the lift.

“Then say you won’t come up with me,” challenged Bond, his lips a mere inch from Q’s and, dear lord, the man’s _scent._

_Pheromones_, thought Q, need flaring abruptly within him— astonishing and novel. It was all he could do not to turn towards Bond and sink his teeth into his neck then and there.

Q swallowed. “I—”

“Yes?” There was amusement in that blue gaze, and something more— a hunger that matched Q’s.

It was the desire that touched him, more so than mere physical lust, so rampantly obvious in Bond, in the gratifying hardness of his body. Q had hungered for others but he was quite sure nobody had ever hungered for _him._

Q’s lips remained parted but no sound came out as he watched Bond lower his head to touch his mouth with his. He remembered himself at the last moment, remembered what the mouth was essentially for. He made to turn away so that Bond only managed to graze him with his lips.

There was a moment of awkwardness. Q wet his lips with his tongue. His mouth had suddenly gone dry and he could not look Bond in the eye. “I…” he tried, and faltered.

“You’re shy,” Bond observed, sounding greatly amused. “I never would have thought it possible.”

Q felt a flare of annoyance. “Rude, Bond,” he pointed out.

Bond shook his head, smiling. “Charmed,” he corrected.

Q’s mouth twisted as he searched for words. “The mouth is for feeding,” he finally said, softly. “I’ve…never…beyond that…”

Bond raised an astonished brow. “Never?” he said in disbelief. “You’ve never actually kissed anyone?”

“Well,” said Q rather defensively. “I don’t make it a habit of going around, smooching people. Being what I am, I can’t, really, can I? Unless I want to feed.”

“Because?” Bond prompted, patiently.

“Because,” snapped Q, “the last time I was with a man and briefly forgot myself, I sent him to hospital with a lacerated artery. He very nearly died.”

Bond laughed softly. “You become more and more interesting, the longer I stay in your company. Who knows where we’ll be and what we may discover of each other, an hour from now? While I would appreciate your kind concern, you know very well that you won’t need to worry about such matters when you’re with me. I’m not just a man, and I promise I will be able to survive you, Q.”

Before Q could reply, the lift stopped with a soft chime, heralding their floor. The doors opened and Bond stepped out, holding out a hand to him. “Come,” he said.

Already, he sounded different. Proprietary.

The word _territorial_ also sprang to mind.

Yet Q found himself meekly following Bond to the suite, his hand tucked in his. He was almost ashamed to admit that he was immensely curious… and massively turned on.

He actually wanted this. In the space of an evening, Bond had made him want this, want him.

He’d expected Bond to pounce the moment they entered the sumptuous suite, yet Bond merely stepped aside and let him gaze, astonished, at the panoramic view laid out before him outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“It’s beautiful,” Q whispered as he slowly came forward and looked down at the lights of Greater London. Forgotten, at least for the time being, was his fear of heights, his fear of flying.

“Don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve ever seen London from above,” said Bond, amused.

Q shrugged. “There must be a first time for everything,” he replied distractedly.

“I agree,” Bond said.

Q could not seem to take his eyes off the scenic view spread out before him. Curiously, his old fears did not grip him. Not when he had Bond pressed solidly and reassuringly against him from behind. Not with Bond’s hands sliding slowly over his body, warm and hypnotic as he started the task of slowly working him free of his clothes.

“You did that, you know,” said Bond, nodding at the view before them. “You helped bring forth this new beginning for everyone by toiling for three centuries to get us to where we are now.”

“We all did our part,” Q replied, unsure of what Bond was getting at. “Even you.”

“Keep looking, then. It’s about time you enjoyed yourself,” Bond murmured against his ear, and Q was suddenly not sure if werewolves were incapable of_ this._

_This_ was principally a vampire thing, after all. A higher, more artful form of persuasion. Something that Bond was seemingly very adept at.

_This_ was something more than mere seduction, thought Q hazily as he felt warm, firm fingers pressing on his cool skin.

_This_ was enthrallment.

“Bond,” said Q as he made to turn toward him. “I must advise you—”

Bond stopped him with a hand over his mouth.

“Sshh,” said Bond as he explored the contours of Q’s lips with gentle fingertips. “I already know. And I give my consent. The question is, Q, do I have yours?”

Q felt it, then: the gradual but unmistakable lengthening and sharpening of two canine teeth in his mouth, spurred on by arousal and hunger that had been unleashed by this man. His fangs never failed to horrify him, but now, with Bond…

Wordlessly he took hold of Bond’s hand to suckle at his fingers, pulling two into his mouth to suck and lave.

Bond watched him, light blue eyes rapidly darkening as Q pierced his skin with the lightest of punctures. He watched as Q’s eyes flitted closed in pleasure at the taste of his blood, the feel of Q’s lips voluptuous against his flesh, his tongue a gentle caress.

It was just a taste.

Finally, Q released Bond’s fingers from his mouth, the tip of his tongue chasing after the last traces of blood as Bond's skin healed rapidly, becoming intact by the time Q was done with him. Bond watched as Q lifted his eyes to regard him, the deep, verdant green of his gaze almost luminous in its intensity and furious with want that mirrored Bond’s.

He touched Q’s lips once again, parting them just enough to see the sharpened teeth.

“Fuck,” Bond said in a low growl. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

Without another word, Q surged forward to take his mouth, their kisses sharp and sweet, tinged with a metallic hint of that vital, red substance, redolent of life itself— a fitting prelude to the savage mating ritual ahead.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Bond dryly, grinning, when they surfaced briefly for air.

“Really, Bond,” chided Q rather breathlessly. “That goes without saying. Now, take me to bed.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...In which Q takes a lover.

Author's Notes: Here's the next chapter! Heads up with the sexytimes for this story, everyone! They're more intense and, uh, different from usual owing to vampire-werewolf stuff, ehehe. Please mind the tags! Enjoy!

* * *

His mouth was hideous.

He had always thought so. Especially the melodramatic fangs, which could not be more unfortunate. He could hardly bear to look at himself when he was hungry, and most certainly not immediately after he’d had a blood meal, when the rich metallic taste still clung to his teeth.

So Q carried on not looking at himself, and sometimes, he could almost forget his state when he busied himself with work and limited his diet to something he could take in a cup. Yet there would be times when someone might happen by to tempt him, beguile him, and ultimately remind him that he was monstrous, with a lethal appetite.

Someone charming, and daring, and not altogether wise. Someone like Jason, who had known what he was and still pursued him until his resolve had crumbled around Jason’s persuasiveness, his silver tongue, his dark good looks.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” Jason had assured him. “And I want you so badly.”

In truth, Q had not needed a lot of convincing. He may be a vampire but he was not immune to lust, or loneliness. Both could be rather overwhelming when one had gone on for so long in denial as Q had.

In the end, Jason had even tried to comfort him, telling him that he’d forgiven him; that there was actually nothing to forgive. Q could not disagree more, especially when he would look back on that moment when he realized that his bite had been deeper than he’d intended and his lover had lain there, bleeding out in bed, and all he could do was clamp down on the spurting wound on his lover’s neck and tried to call for help while _still lapping at all that blood_, unable to help himself.

He was a monster. There was nothing else to him.

So now what was he to do with this? What was he to do with the likes of Bond as he stood in front of him, well inside his personal space, running light, calloused fingers over the soft, supple flesh of his red lips and declaring that he was bloody gorgeous?

Bond, who had been bitten and mauled while on assignment years and years ago in Eastern Europe. He’d been left for dead along with his team and he’d been the only one to survive his injuries. He’d not just survived but flourished under the new, altered conditions that his body had been subjected to. Bond, who could probably survive him and wanted him; only, what they were about to embark upon was almost unheard of between vampires and werewolves. Bond, whom he’d found fascinating and infuriating in equal measure, and long before the man had dismissed him as dead from the waist down.

It was odd how that little sophomoric put-down had managed to touch him. He should have known what it meant. He _had_ known, and he’d not done enough to put Bond at arm’s length.

Now here they were, his much-vaunted reason and good sense fleeing in the onslaught of desire, leaving him to wonder why he’d ever thought to hold Bond at arm’s length to begin with; especially now that he’d tasted blood— Bond’s blood, rich and thick on his tongue and absolutely delicious, just like every inch of the man himself.

He gave Bond his mouth, their kisses hot and filthy but nowhere near grotesque as he’d feared. He could not help the sharp little nips as Bond kissed him, hard. He almost gave a small moan of protest when Bond finally drew away a fraction, his mouth slightly bloodied and drawn in a sharp smile.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Bond said, satisfaction lacing his deep voice.

“Really, Bond,” Q chided, astonished to find himself a bit breathless and more than a little frustrated. “That really goes without saying. Now take me to bed.”

Bond lifted a teasing brow at him. “Whatever happened to ‘please’? You were always so polite.”

_“Now,”_ Q snapped, unable to contain his impatience as he clutched at Bond with hard fingers.

Bond laughed, low and guttural. “Yes, sir.”

Q wrapped himself greedily around Bond as he was hoisted up and carried over to the bed, their mouths joined in another feral kiss.

He could go on like this forever, Q thought, slightly dazed as he was gently lowered onto smooth, soft sheets. He wouldn’t mind at all, staying like this with Bond.

He made to cling to the man with arms and legs when he thought Bond might move away, earning him another soft, dark laugh. Their clothes were shed roughly, without much thought or care, not stopping until they felt the texture of skin underneath their hands.

_So warm,_ thought Q as he explored the broad expanse of Bond’s chest with nimble fingers and with the flat of his palms. It was all he could do not to press harder against Bond, to absorb his warmth that reminded him of the last rays of the sun on that long-ago day, hundreds of years ago.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you,” Bond remarked as he gave Q more of what he wanted before slanting away from his mouth to trail hard, biting kisses down the line of his throat.

“This is all your fault, Bond,” Q breathed, giving himself up to Bond’s mouth. “Take some responsibility.”

“I take full responsibility,” Bond responded gravely, and Q broke out in soft giggles as Bond nuzzled at the sensitive skin of his neck.

_Would he?_ Q wondered as a thought occurred to him suddenly.

Would Bond bite him, so early into their relationship…or whatever this arrangement between them was called.

Of course, he knew about the elaborate mating rituals among werewolves, and along with them came the most intimate gesture of all— the bonding bite, usually administered at the back of the neck, marking a partner for life. Yet it seemed too early for them to be moving in that direction, too soon, too fast, and—

“Q,” called Bond and Q started. He glanced up to see that Bond had read the cause of his fleeting distraction only too well. It must have been written all over his face. He would have blushed if he could.

Bond shook his head as Q made to turn away. “You know that I wouldn’t force myself on you like that,” he merely said, and Q nodded after a moment.

Embarrassed, he sat up and said briskly. “Well, let’s get this rolling, then.”

He settled himself on Bond determinedly, half straddling, half lying on top of him as he worked his hands and mouth aggressively over Bond’s body.

“Q,” said Bond after a moment.

He would have carried on, not listening, were it not for Bond’s fingers tangling in his hair, urging him to stop and look at him.

“There is no need to feel embarrassed, or to overcompensate,” Bond pointed out, thereby making Q feel so much worse.

“Oh, shut up, Bond,” he said irritably. “I’m n—”

Bond silenced him with a kiss. “Let’s take this slow and easy,” he suggested. “No pressure.”

Q shook him off as he slid down Bond’s body. “You may want to go slow,” he said, “but I shan’t.”

Of course, Bond was right. He was overcompensating, which would account for his boldness now as he took Bond in hand.

Bond jerked beneath his rough touch. “Easy now, Quartermaster,” he admonished with a grin as he settled back, hands linked behind his head, fully enjoying himself. “Mind the weapon, please.”

Q made a small, frustrated sound. _Infuriating man,_ he would have wanted to say. Instead, he took Bond into his mouth. It was worth it, seeing him go still, head gradually tilting back, body unwinding and mouth going slack as Bond closed his eyes at the sensations of Q, sucking and laving at him. Loving him.

Q was never effusive when it came to these things. He usually let his work speak for him, so if this was the only way he could show Bond how much he cared about him, then he would make sure to do a proper job of it just like how he did everything else.

Bond was easy to love, and easy to please, noted Q as he felt the firm flesh wrapped in his grip harden further under his ministrations. He also had the most gorgeous cock, with a thick rim of flesh at the base that was peculiar to werewolves, so Q had been informed and which he was seeing up close now. He teased the swollen head with the tip of his tongue and was rewarded with a small dribble of clear pre-cum. Above him, he heard Bond mutter a faint curse.

“Come here, you,” said Bond, and Q felt the man’s hands on his hips, lifting and shifting him so that he lay over Bond, upside-down.

“Bond,” said Q, startled. “What—_oohhhh…”_

The words melted away on his tongue at the feel of Bond’s mouth against his closed rim, licking at him and slowly coaxing him open. He felt Bond’s fingers trailing over his balls, his cock, and it was all Q could do not to grind against his face.

“Keep at it, Quartermaster,” Bond reminded him, and they slowly settled down to a rhythm of their own, admixed with sighs and quiet sounds of pleasure.

It did not take long for Bond to be ready, and Q found himself unable to concentrate, not when Bond had managed to open him up all the way to two fingers inside him.

“Now,” he found himself murmuring. “Now, Bond.”

Bond did not need to be told twice as he slid out from under Q to position him on his knees before he slid into him, his movements firm and so very sure.

_So big,_ thought Q, mouth shocked open at Bond’s entry, _and so very, very good._

He was filled to the hilt for a few seconds, then Bond eased slowly out before plunging back in.

The moan that left Q was something he’d never heard before and gave Bond pause.

“Too much?” Bond queried, slowing down to a stop.

“Oh god,” Q cried. “Don’t you _dare_ stop now. More.”

“Are you sure?” came Bond’s next question, a smile tucked into his voice.

“Fuck, Bond, _harder.”_

“As you wish.”

The strokes were perfect, thought Q rather deliriously. Each of them, like lightning, illuminating him from within.

He was very nearly there when he felt Bond scrape against his nape with his teeth.

_Oh my god,_ thought Q.

Bond was going to do it. Bite him. He was going to bond with him and Q wanted him to.

Yet Bond suddenly withdrew, earning him a bereft sound that was suspiciously close to a wail.

“What, _Bond—”_

“I miss you, darling,” said Bond as he turned him over and hoisted him up so that Q was sitting on him, his legs sprawled awkwardly around Bond.

“Oh,” Q said as he wrapped his arms around Bond’s neck, watching, waiting as he was lowered back onto Bond’s stiff prick. _“Ooohhh…”_

“That’s better,” Bond whispered, his voice rough against Q’s ear as he began to thrust again.

With gravity on his side, Q could feel him so much more like this, lodged so deep inside him that Bond could never, ever escape. His disappointment half forgotten, he turned his nose against Bond’s skin, senses flaring at the scent of male sweat and animal musk. He opened his mouth against Bond's for more sharp kisses, and to lick a stripe of salty moisture from Bond’s neck, feeling intensely gratified to hear Bond’s guttural growl, the way he picked up speed, his movements growing harder and more abrupt, becoming frenzied at the approach of orgasm.

Q held him close as the excruciating pleasure mounted, his lips latching onto that spot on Bond’s neck where a vein throbbed underneath. He sank his teeth in just as Bond started coming, filling Q with such warmth and his mouth full of the intoxicating taste of Bond's blood.

Locked in their embrace, they shuddered as the shared orgasm ripped through them. Blood spurted from the wound on Bond’s neck as Q surfaced for air, gasping. Sealing the wound firmly with his fingertips, Q turned to rest his head against Bond’s, overcome, still shaking from the waves that surged on and on between them. He’d never, ever felt this way with any of his other lovers— so intensely out of his depth, so out of control. He could feel Bond deep inside him still, knotted to him. They would remain this way for a while until Bond finally subsided inside him.

In the meantime, Bond would not allow any awkwardness to settle in as he ran gentle hands up and down Q’s slippery back. “So good,” he praised. “You feel so fucking good, Q. I knew you would be.”

Q gave him an exhausted laugh as he removed his fingers from Bond’s neck. There, all healed up, just like magic, though his little puncture marks would leave a scar. Just like Bond’s body was riddled with scars from past skirmishes, making his flesh so much more beautiful, so precious. Vampires healed so much more quickly and thoroughly so that Q never got to keep any of his scars, his body remaining smooth and pale like a mind wiped clean of its memory.

“You’re beautiful,” he told Bond shyly, admiringly, as he gazed down at Bond’s muscled figure that he continued to straddle.

Bond shook his head, grinning. “Not as beautiful as you, my darling."

And it was true. At that moment, Q did feel beautiful, powerful. Desired. He felt stunning.

"Does it feel uncomfortable?” Bond asked as he felt Q shudder lightly against him.

“Surprisingly, no,” said Q, shifting a little over Bond. “You feel lovely inside me, like you're still coming. I feel so full. Full of you.”

“So mind-blowing," remarked Bond as he leaned into Q. "I won’t mind having seconds, would you?”

“But we’re not through with the first one yet!” cried Q.

Bond scrunched his nose at him. “There will be ample time later.”

“You’re going to wear me out,” said Q, smiling as he reached down to lick at the thin trails of blood drying on Bond’s neck, his shoulder. He licked at Bond’s face, tasting his sweat, the natural flavor of his skin.

“I hope you won’t mind too much?” said Bond as he gathered Q to him lazily before lying down on the bed.

“I won’t,” replied Q as he stretched himself out over Bond. “I promise.”

Wrapped in his lover's arms, Q had never felt such contented bliss, indeed such happiness, which was perhaps why he could be excused for not realizing what he had got himself into. 


End file.
